Drawing A Line
by girl in the glen
Summary: A line in the sand, a line on paper… The Russian has one of the moments.


"I won't do it, and that is the end of the matter."

Napoleon disliked having to pull rank on his partner, but every once in a while the Russian was completely irrational about simple tasks like…

"Illya, buddy… it's just a little soiree with some nice people at the Plaza. It's not as though they're going to be all… what is it the kids say? Uptight. No, not at all, this is an UNCLE function headed up by Section VII. It's merely a fundraising operation posing as a social event. And so what if the topic of a Soviet agent comes up."

The icy blue glare coming from the blond in the room sent a virtual chill down Solo's spine. He wondered if all Russians were capable of causing the temperature in a room to drop twenty degrees with that look.

"I refuse to be paraded about like some Lippizaner stallion being groomed for the Spanish Riding School. I do not perform on command, I am not…''

"**You've got to be kidding!**" Napoleon was trying to refrain from an outright guffaw at Illya's line. Seriously, a stallion?

"I am not kidding, I am quite serious. You perceive this evening as benign and merely intended to collect money for the cause, but the political aspect must be necessarily a key to even that. I am not some sort of poster boy for détente; I didn't come to UNCLE to be a symbol of anything, I came to be a part of an organization that keeps order in the world, sanity among the barbarians.' Illya looked genuinely disturbed as he laid out his purpose in life.

"I have spent my life getting to this point, avoiding the pitfalls of the Soviet machine and quite honestly the dangers therein. Russia is my homeland, and no matter what men have done to the ideologies that created the Soviet Union, I will not participate in anything that demeans it in any way."

Now Napoleon felt the sting of Illya's rebuttal in a way that caused him to reconsider the wisdom of the fancy dress ball to which they were being sent. Waverly had his reasons for displaying the Russian agent, and it really wasn't a matter of Illya saying yes to it; there would be repercussions should he refuse.

"Illya, I really don't think that Mr. Waverly means to, um… I think you have it all wrong." The glare was only slightly reduced as Illya considered that.

"Have I? Will there not be political people there, and military? I am on their watch lists, and they make no apologies for that Napoleon. I am not considered trustworthy, not even with Mr. Waverly's convictions about me in full view. The idea of being placed there …" Illya hesitated and then turned to look as someone entered the office space they occupied.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but may I have a word with Mr. Kuryakin… alone?" Alexander Waverly wasn't actually asking permission, only his genteel nature afforded the impression that there was a choice.

Napoleon looked at Illya, nodded and withdrew from the room. The walls seemed a little closer to the blond as the older man's countenance and authority filled the space, invoking a type of awe from the young agent.

"Mr. Kuryakin, I believe I can understand why you object to attending this, um… event. It looks from the outside to be merely a showcase for my coup in having attained your services. I assure you, that is entirely the case."

Illya was stunned by that. He had assumed, but for the old man to confirm his worst opinion of it was a shock nonetheless.

"Sir? I do not understand the intentions here. Why…?"

Waverly smiled, that fox-like expression that defied interpretation.

"Young man, I have no intention of putting you on display as an operative, rather you will be introduced as Dr. Kuryakin, newly joined to our Section VIII as a part of our continuing and advancing sciences division. As a graduate of both the Sorbonne and Cambridge, your participation in this rather grand display is intended to help build the coffers, so to speak, and continue the funding we receive from certain quarters, including the governments that will be represented."

Illya listened intently to the explanation, his eyes never leaving those of the old man.

"I see."

"Do you?" Waverly wanted to be certain that this young man understood his role, accepted how important he truly was to the Command.

"Yes sir, I apologize for my earlier diatribe; the greater good is at stake." A small smile broke across his face as Illya accepted the role of collaborator with his Chief.

"Very well then. Please pick up your new tuxedo from Del Floria's; we can't have our new physicist attending the party in anything less than couture now, can we?

Neither of them gave that question much more thought than of its necessity for the purpose it would serve. Years later Illya would think back on it and add a men's line of formal wear to the House of Vanya: _Waverly House._


End file.
